


Dirty Pool

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach and Chris make a little bet over a game of pool. Chris is a sore loser. A very sore loser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Pool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_deep_magic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the_deep_magic).



"Seven. Corner pocket."

Chris groans and Zach just laughs at his despair. It's pretty obvious by now how this is going to work out. He bends at the hip, making sure to give Chris the best view of the ass he's not going to fuck tonight, as he sinks his last ball easily. He grins when Chris curses under his breath and does a lap around the table, surveying the situation.

"Eight ball, oh...side pocket? Let's go for side pocket," he says. Chris huffs, leaning his elbow on the end of his pool cue.

"Dude. Just shoot the damn ball into whatever the hell pocket and end my misery already."

"But it's so delectable, Chris. Almost as delectable as it will be to fuck you senseless on this pool table after I beat your sorry ass."

"This isn't fair!" Chris declares when Zach puts the eight ball away, throwing his pool stick down on the floor with a clatter. He pouts before his eyes widen with a bright, new idea. "You cheated!"

"How?" Zach answers, incredulously.

"...I don't know." The pout returns, in full force. "Because you're a mutant! An anomaly! An...an Aboriginal!"

"Aboriginal?" Zach cringes. "Stop stalling and take your pants off for mutant sex."

"Oh, fine." Chris grunts, reaching down and undoing his jeans, pushing them down to his knees, the denim rumpled and sloppy around his ankles. He holds his arms out, presenting himself. "Ta-da. Ready."

"This is sad," Zach comments. He leans back against the table and folds his arms across his chest, shaking his head sorrowfully. "This is supposed to arouse me enough to fuck you? You look like a frat boy about to get hazed on someone's front lawn. Not to mention those knobby knees and those skinny legs, jeez."

"My knobby knees are _seductive_. Okay, fine." Chris kicks off his jeans completely and then starts to unbutton his shirt, pausing to roll his eyes at another of Zach's comments.

"You could look a little more excited about it. It's not like I don't have anything better to do than fuck you on a pool table. I have a brand new Netflix envelope waiting for me at home. I think it's _Spanglish_. I've been waiting for that one."

"All right, you— _Spanglish_? What the actual fuck?" Chris shakes his head and tries to get into his disrobing more, going slower on the buttons and peeling his shirt off with a little more panache. He gives Zach a lingering view of his body, clad only in an undershirt and boxer briefs, before stripping off the top, replacing pristine, white cotton with bare, golden skin. "Better?"

"Now, this is more like it." Zach drums his fingertips against his bottom lip as he slowly rakes his eyes over Chris' body. When Chris takes notice of the way he's being appraised, he finally starts to feel a stirring between his thighs. It doesn't escape Zach's attention, who quirks a smile as he lifts up from his lean against the table and draws closer. "Oh, that you like, huh? When I stand here, fully-clothed and look you over like a trophy I just won? A toy with which I'm about to entertain myself?"

"It's...not...bad." Chris clears his throat, alarmed at his shrinking vocabulary in the face of Zach's lusty gaze. He could come just from the taunting laugh that leaves Zach's lips.

"Go assume the position," Zach murmurs, right against his ear. "Both hands on the edge of the table."

Considering that it's not really in Chris' best interests to stay standing in one place, he all but runs to the pool table, bracing his hands on the edge and bending forward to lift his ass in the air. Zach ambles over and smoothes his hands over the fabric-clad curve he knows so well and that he's won tonight, fair and square. He can't help but smirk as he remembers Chris' complaints of just a few minutes ago, compared to the little whimpers and wanting sighs he's letting out now. Zach curls a finger in the elastic of Chris' boxer briefs and snaps it without mercy, getting a yelp in return.

"Mother... _fucker_ ," Chris grits out.

"Use your big boy words, Christopher."

"Take them off and stick your cock in me, _Zachary_."

"Oh, I'll take them off. But the rest is in good time." He reaches out and splays a hand over the back of Chris' skull, pressing his face to the soft felt of the tabletop—not enough to crush any of his lovely features, but enough to serve as a warning. "Don't you dare turn around," he warns.

"Fuck," Chris breathes. "You planning some kinky shit back there...?"

"Hmm, maybe," Zach says, and he reaches for the pool cue he so _carelessly_ left lying against the wall after he won. He diligently checks the blunt end for splinters or anything similar—not a single one, and it makes sense, as its owner likely ensured all his pool equipment was of the best quality—and then extracts the small bottle of lube from his trouser pocket that he made sure to bring along, using it to coat the butt of the stick generously.

Zach Quinto never makes a bet he isn't sure he can win.

As soon as the boxer-briefs are pulled down, without much regard for the scrape of fabric over Chris' aching cock, Zach carefully lines up the butt of the mahogany-colored pool stick with Chris' entrance, wide open and inviting, thanks to his spread legs. As soon as the younger man feels the graze of something that is definitely _not_ Zach's cock, he gasps loudly, clutching the table with a near death grip.

"Oh, god, you—wh-what the fuck is _that_?" he hisses, all on one exhalation.

"We never said I had to fuck you with my _cock_." Zach smirks, lightly stroking Chris' hole with the lubed stick now, petting the ring of muscle. "I'd much rather fuck you with the very pool cue that I used to crushingly defeat you."

Chris groans, and to Zach's delight, it appears to be appreciative. "Oh, fuck, that is _dirty_."

"Dirty pool," he cheerfully replies.

"Fuck you, I fucking hate puns!"

"Oh, you'll like this one."

Zach breaches Chris with the pool cue then, and Chris moans loudly at the intrusion, thick and unrelenting as it thrusts inside him. He scrabbles for a better grip on the table, trying to haul more of his torso onto the green so he doesn't fall, and Zach holds the pool stick steady until he's found a good balance. Of course, Chris' infamous impatience doesn't allow that for long, and the sudden, desperate chant of "Godfuckingdamnitmoveitmoveitplease _god_ " is enough to start him fucking Chris properly with the tool of his own demise.

He doesn't bother to ease Chris into the rhythm or take his time; Zach won their bet and he's going to fuck his lover the way he wants to. His own erection strains against his pants as he pumps the pool stick in and out of Chris' tight hole, giving him a little more of its length with every other stroke, causing Chris to whine each time he gets less. Zach's own brow starts to glisten with sweat and he concentrates on angling the stick, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he searches for the spot that will make Chris absolutely scream. He shouldn't, really—they should be as quiet as they can be, given the circumstances—but it's totally worth it when Chris lets out a monster wail and grabs onto the table like he's been swept up in an _earthquake_ , his hands scrabbling at the tabletop and fingernails leaving crescents in the felt.

"Fuck, Zach, touch me, please fucking _touch me_!" Chris howls, his knees buckling slightly with the maddening pressure slamming into his prostate. Zach wanted to make him come without a single touch, but he's not made of stone. He'd say that Chris deserves a break for putting up with this, but Chris is a filthy slut at heart. Zach knows damn well that he's loving this.

Zach leans forward and tries to find a good stance for keeping the rhythm of the pool cue steady and taking hold of Chris' cock at the same time. He slides his thumb slowly along the throbbing vein he knows so well, twisting his palm over the shaft with a practiced ease. Chris' words are garbled now—he's babbling nonsense and probably drooling on the very expensive pool table, and that just makes it even better. Zach starts plunging the stick into him harder and faster, hitting that sweet spot as often as he can while squeezing and tugging at his needy cock, until it almost sounds like Chris is choking on it.

" _Zaaaach_ ," Chris sobs brokenly, and he bucks relentlessly into the older man's grip. He gives in without warning and shoots thick spurts over the buffed and spit-shined mahogany table, clenching so hard around the pool cue that Zach can barely keep fucking him throughout the release.

Just then, Zach hears a choked gasp and he looks up, catching sight of Karl in the doorway. His mouth is agape—either in shock or horror or unabashed lust, he can't really tell right now—and he's barely managed not to drop the six-pack of beer in his hand.

"You," Karl starts, and then Chris looks up, too, blinking dazedly as he fights to regain his senses. Chris has a string of drool hanging from his parted lips, his nude form practically melted against the table, and Zach's got what looks to be the mother of all erections bulging against the front of his trousers—not to mention one of Karl's handcrafted pool cues up Chris' ass. "You...you came on my table," he whispers.

Chris mumbles something that sort of sounds like an apology but isn't incredibly coherent. Zach is about to apologize for them both when he notices Karl's very happy-looking bulge, quite apparent even from across the room. A wolfish grin spreads easily across his face.

"You in for the next game, Urban? Winner takes all."

Zach pulls the cue back and it leaves Chris' ass with an audible pop. Chris lets out a shuddery moan.

"Fuck, yes, I am," Karl drawls. He steps inside the rec room and locks the door behind him.


End file.
